The Performance

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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Be careful here, dear reader. What began as a simple erotic tale of voyeurism somehow metamorphed into a a powerful love story. Do not read unless you enjoy being emotionally moved. I am curious to know what you think about this one.


The Performance

(*****, M/F, Severe, cons, severe, sex, love)

A man catches up with his long lost love. (Approximately 5,561 words. Originally published 1997-12.)

As I settled in my chair the waiter handed me a menu. "Enjoy the show, sir," he said, his English clear but with the unmistakable accent of a Frenchman. I nodded, gazing at the menu.

"Hmmm. I guess dinner theatre really means dinner theatre," I thought. I hadn't been exactly sure what to expect. I'm not a drama critic; I'm a CPA. My speciality is obscure international tax laws. I live and work in libraries and law firms. To most people it is utterly boring stuff--I'm hired by lawyers who want me to find a loophole in archaic tax codes or lawsuits that go back twenty or even fifty years. I find it fascinating, but then I'm a bookworm.

Tonight is unusual for me. I've been to Paris exactly 27 times in the last four years and this is the first time I've been out of my hotel room for a non-business related activity. But I've taken time out of my busy schedule to watch this performance. I heard over a year ago that Amy was performing here, but this is the first time I've come to see her.

Amy and I go way back. She was my sister's best friend in high school. Amy used to hang around our house all the time. She had a major crush on me for a while there, though I can't for the life of me imagine why. I was a real nerd back then. She made it clear she liked me, but I was too shy to reciprocate. I had erotic dreams about her at night, thinking of her graceful body and imagining her coming into my room and taking off her clothes. After that, I couldn't talk to her. Every time I saw her my brain went limp and my body stiff and I just stammered awkwardly, my face growing more and more red, until finally I ran away. I avoided her for months, and eventually our passions cooled and we were just friends.

I went off to state college and in my junior year my sister started college too. Amy came with her. Both of the girls had blossomed into beautiful young ladies. I remember enjoying the feeling of going out on the town with the two of them at my elbows. Guys would look at me with astonished, envious glances--it was cool.

One night Amy and Rolanda (my sister) were out with some friends. One of the guys was drinking. Apparently no one realized how drunk he was--everyone was a little high, I guess. Anyway, there was an accident. Everyone but Amy was killed. Amy felt horrible. I'll never forget seeing her the next day. She remembered very little of the previous night, and when we told her (for the tenth time) that Ro was gone she still couldn't seem to believe it. She blamed herself.

For a few months there Amy and I were really close. She hung out with me, and we talked about my sister. We cried and shared. There wasn't anything sexual, at least not at first. One night Amy gave me a long hug and I caught myself feeling her breast. She pulled away and I can't describe the look on her face. It wasn't rejection--it was a mixture of fear, apprehension, and confusion. She left then. After that it was all downhill. We drifted apart. Something had broken between us.

A few years later, after I'd got my first job and moved to D.C., I got a call from Amy. She'd quit college and moved out to California. She was studying acting, and was going to make it big. I wished her well. We've kept in touch over the years, but I haven't seen her in person in, oh, it must almost fifteen years now. Amazing the way time slips by.

Anyway, she's here. Tonight I get to see Amy perform. She doesn't know I'm here--it's a surprise. I'm not sure what she's going to do. It's something avant garde, I think. Whatever that is. As I said, I'm not a drama critic.

I order my food and eat some of the fresh bagette on my table. The lights have dimmed somewhat, and everyone is watching the stage. The program I have lists Amy's act as the third and final "climax" of the evening. Her name is listed as Josie, but I recognize her picture. It says that she performs only once a week and apparently it's a big deal--the place is packed.

The first performance is weird: it's a naked man and woman on opposites sides of the stage shouting at each other and having a mutual orgasm as they argue. Most of the time they insult each other, a when one scores a hit the other appears to become very aroused. The dialogue is in French, and very rapid--I understand little. I guess it's supposed to be symbolic or something.

The second playlet begins as my food arrives. This one is slightly more to my taste. It's a comedy about a set of triplets (they are played by the same actress). There's all sorts of confusing mistaken identity stuff--things like the husband thinking his wife is having an affair but really _he's_ having the affair because she's not his wife! The play wasn't terrible, and there was a generous amount of nudity that helped. I wondered what Amy's performance would be about.

I finished my steak and was spreading some brie on some bread when the maitre'd came and announced "Josie" in "Bad Little Girl." The audience clapped madly. Then the stage light went out. A moment later it came back on, softly at first, and soon the scene was revealed.

It was a little girl's bedroom. A father was standing scolding a little girl--it stunned me when I realized that the little girl was none other than Amy! She was dressed in a little girl's skirt and top and long white stockings and her hair was done up in pigtails. I swear she looked like she was about ten years old!

There wasn't any dialog--just mime--but you could see the little girl had been naughty by the way she looked at the floor and blushed and scuffed her shoe. She looked very shy and innocent.

Angry, the father grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the bed. Sitting on it, he flipped her over his lap. Amy's legs faced the audience and we couldn't help but notice her prominent bottom. "How embarrassing for her!" I thought, but I was too early.

The man flipped up Amy's skirt revealing a pair of white panties that showed off her figure quite well. He began to spank her, really spank her, slapping her bottom loudly. Even in Paris this was an unusual sight, I guess, for the tables around me were all filled with hushed whispers of astonishment.

"He can't _really_ be--" I started to think, and then the man pulled down Amy's panties. I gasped out loud. I couldn't believe this. But it was true. There, on the stage, not twenty feet away, was Amy, dressed as a child but with bottom bared and the large hand of a strange older man slapping her ass! It was unbelievable.

As the spanking continued one could hear Amy making small sounds, grunting and moaning. She wiggled a bit, and it was obvious this was painful. Her bottom was remarkably red. I was very surprised she was taking this so calmly--the man was very large and strong and didn't seem to be going very gentle at all.

Then it was over, and Amy stood. She rubbed her bottom and her "father" hugged her. Then the stage went black.

There was a long silence, and then someone clapped loudly. Others joined in and soon the whole placed was filled with clapping. The stage was dark but I could see movement. Apparently there was more.

As the lights came back on I saw that the furniture had been rearranged and now resembled an office. The same man, wearing a beret and smoking a black pipe, sat behind a desk. Then Amy came into the picture. This time she was obviously older, wearing tight blue jeans and too much red lip stick. The man was angry, and frowned at the teenager, shaking his finger at her. Amy looked ashamed and shyly stared at the floor, looking adorable and sexy in her snug outfit.

The man didn't seem satisfied, however, and reached into the drawer of the desk and removed a long wooden paddle. It was narrow but heavy, and he took it in both hands and motioned for the girl to turn around. After a brief mimed protest Amy reluctantly turned and placed her hands on the desk, arching her back and thrusting her rump out toward the audience. There were cheers from many around me, and I felt myself getting excited. There was no question about what was about to occur.

The paddling was not faked. At least I didn't see how it could have been. The man struck with full force, loud jarring blows that nearly knocked poor Amy off her feet. She writhed and groaned loudly, arching her back and wiggling her ass provocatively. I was aroused and uncomfortable, but I couldn't take my eyes off the show. Memories of Amy and me flashed through me suddenly I knew I desired her the way I hadn't desired a woman in decades. It felt good.

Throughout this time the paddling kept intensifying, and now it had reached its peak. The blows were loud and fast, coming as fast as the man could deliver them, perhaps one a second. It was bam! bam! bam! bam! bam! non-stop. I didn't see how Amy could take it.

Suddenly the man stopped and Amy, gasping wildly, unsnapped her pants and slipped them down. She wore skimpy thong panties, the gorgeous moons of her bare cheeks spilling out on each side of the slender string going down her crack. Her ass was red, a violent scarlet, hot, pulsing, and tremendously arousing. I glanced around and the room was silent with awe, men and women alike gaping and staring as though looking at God himself.

Then the paddle walloped that bare rump and it was as if the entire room was orgasming. Women were sweating profusely, men swallowing and crossing their legs in near agony. A few men had their hands busy under their tablecloths. I myself was aching with desire but far too embarrassed to move. I sat frozen, stunned both by Amy's beauty and her unusual performance.

Then it was over. The stage lights faded and the audience groaned in the darkness, men begging and pleading for more. Without realizing it I stood with the others and cheered, clapping with my entire being.

But the lights didn't come up right away. There were scurrying sounds on the stage and soon it was clear that there was another act to follow. I couldn't imagine what was coming--didn't dare to hope that Amy would "perform" some more--but I knew that an earthquake wouldn't have moved me from my table before the end of her performance.

When the audience had quieted, the stage lights slowly brightened. The stage was bare except for two items: a short wooden stand near the center that reminded me of a saw horse, and a swinging metal gate that barred the entrance to the stage. The same man was there again, this time dressed in a gray uniform. He looked military, and in his hand was a long riding crop. He paced impatiently. Excitement and anticipation filled the theatre.

Suddenly Amy was there, nervously peering through the bars of the gate. The gate was unlocked and she was pushed inside by a young man dressed in a gray uniform, who locked the gate after her. Amy glanced behind her and shuddered. She was dressed only in a simple, shapeless white smock that hung down to mid-thigh. Her hands were bound behind her back.

She stared at the ground, seemingly afraid to look at the man before her. He commanded her, pointing at the wooden device with the long stem of his riding crop. Amy, with a last pleading glance for mercy, seemed to become resigned and knelt before the stand.

Now I was beginning to see what the stand was for. The man with the crop unbound her hands and carefully lifted the smock over Amy's head. She was totally naked. Her body was flawless, except for her red and punished buttocks, which looked ghastly. She radiated sex appeal, however, and her shy trembling as she leaned forward across the wooden horse sent dozens of electrical shocks through my body.

Amy was positioned so we looked at her from the side, which enabled me to see her face as the man pulled her arms forward and bound them with black leather fasteners. The man tied her ankles, too, and now Amy was humped over the horse, her naked buttocks and legs thrust up behind her, her arms stretched forward and held securely. Beneath her face Amy's breasts dangled, plump mounds with distinctive nipples I could see from where I was sitting. It was breathtaking.

The crowd began to fidget in excitement. The man didn't move faster, however. From somewhere he produced a black leather collar and he carefully attached it to Amy's neck. There was second collar which went around her mouth, gagging her, and was attached to the neck collar. At first I was puzzled by this, but then I saw that it forced Amy's head up, so she couldn't hide her face from us. A slow smile of admiration came across my face. Whoever had engineered this "play" deserved a reward. The girl was completely and utterly helpless.

With the riding crop, the man began touching Amy's bound body. He brushed her back with it, poked her breasts, and rubbed between her legs. Amy gurgled and moaned slightly. The man pressed something behind the wooden stand with his foot and to my astonishment the entire stand began to rotate. Apparently the stand was on something like a Lazy Susan, controlled by a foot pump.

The man stopped Amy when she was directly facing the audience, her bright blue eyes wide with fear. The crop came down with a loud snap across her backside and Amy yelped and struggled violently, her eyes bulging, but the wooden stand was secure--it barely vibrated. The crop came forward, gently brushing her skin. It rubbed her breasts and then lightly flicked it across her nipples. Amy's eyes went impossibly wide and she wiggled frantically, which caused her breasts to bob. It was mesmerizing. The audience was so quiet you could hear Amy's agonized breathing as she struggled to get air solely through her nostrils.

I don't know how long this teasing lasted--perhaps five minutes--but when the man threw down the crop Amy was a mess. She was sweating so much she was literally dripping onto the stage floor. Her face was red and contorted, the veins of her forehead standing out. She seemed unbearably tense. And yet the man had barely punished her, only striking her harshly with the crop a few times. Most of the time he only teased her, rubbing the tip in sensitive areas and lightly patting her flesh with the flap of the crop.

I, like Amy, was suffering. My cock was so hard in my pants I'd had to shift position a dozen times, and now my balls ached I was so aroused. I had long since decided to ignore those around me, thankful for the extreme darkness. I heard sounds and sensed people were near, but I could see nothing. Besides, I couldn't bear to take my eyes off the delectable Amy.

Then I heard an exclamation off to my left. My eyes shifted and I saw the "officer" had exchanged his crop for a long rattan cane. Though it was impossible, my cock extended an extra quarter inch at the sight. "He can't possibly..." I thought, terror invading my body. I realized I was sweating profusely, my best suit soaked. I didn't care.

The man carried the cane to Amy and showed it to her, swishing it through the air and bending it into a U, demonstrating its flexibility. Amy shivered and shrank away in horror, struggling in her bonds. The man only laughed and began to pump the stand to rotate it. He stopped when Amy's ass faced the audience. There were gasps of amazement. Amy's legs were fastened wide apart, her innermost sexual organs visible to everyone. What was most amazing was Amy's state of obvious arousal: her clitoris had thickened noticeably and was protruding from her sex lips like the obscene tip of a tongue. Amy was dripping with moisture. She was enjoying this!

The atmosphere in the small room was so tense the slightest sound would have produced screams of alarm. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the inevitable. The man drew back the cane and without warning brought it down with unbelievable force. It snapped across Amy's rump and was gone in the blink of an eye, but burned into my retinas was the sight of Amy's quivering cheeks. The sound hit me next: it was impossibly loud, sharp like a firecracker, and it seemed to end before it got started. A finger-thick weal blossomed like magic across Amy's twin cheeks, and her body began to shudder. She moaned loudly, her hips wiggling slightly. The flesh of her bottom seemed to twitch on its own. I couldn't imagine what she was feeling.

The man with the cane pumped the stand so we could see Amy's gorgeous face again, her eyes huge and glowing like cat's eyes in the night, her expression mysterious--I couldn't tell if she was angry, upset, or ecstatic. While she watched us the man cracked the cane across her ass once again, and this time we got to see Amy's face as she suffered. It almost hurt to watch. The agony she felt could not have been faked.

Again the cane struck her, and Amy went into contortions, her body quivering uncontrollably. Her moaning was constant, tears washing her cheeks as she wept. My heart ached for her she was so beautiful at that moment. Her crying reminded me of the times we'd spent together after Ro passed on. I'd always wanted so badly to touch Amy, to somehow ease her pain. Once again that impulse overwhelmed me. Wetness splashed across the back of my hand. I looked down and discovered hot tears dripping from my eyes.

Looking up, my eyes met Amy's. There was no doubt she saw me. Her face had gone white. Her eyes seemed to drink me up. I dove into her soul and what I felt made me weep, though I knew not if it was for joy or pain.

Distantly, I felt--I mean heard--the cane land, and Amy and I both jerked spasmically. It was as though we'd both been struck. I stared at her and she at me, smiling through her tears, though her mouth was covered with the gag.

The man seemed pleased, nodding at her suffering. He walked to a nearby wall and for the first time I became aware that there was a whip coiled there. The man took it down and I saw it was a bullwhip, perhaps fifteen feet in length. Grinning at the audience and the groaning Amy, the man rotated her so her ass faced him. Amy was parallel to us.

The whipping was short but terrifying. Several times the man snapped it just inches above Amy's back. The girl moaned and writhed in anticipatory agony, but the rawhide still had not touched her flesh. The first contact was across her buttocks, a curling, snapping blow that seemed like it tore chunks out of her ass. The second blow was lower, wrapping itself across her thighs. I heard several women in the audience cry out at these loud blows. One man near me grunted loudly and then let out a long deep sigh of immeasurable relief. I purposely kept my eyes averted.

After a second strike across her legs, the man untied Amy and helped her to her feet. She was shaking and trembling, very frightened. He led to the far wall and made her stand with her back against it, her arms above her head. Then he teased her with the whip, striking at her from across the stage, the tip snapped dangerously close to her bare breasts, belly, or pussy. Amy shuddered and turned her head away, shaking in fear. The man only laughed.

Suddenly there was a rattling at the metal gate. The younger man was back, and with a deep sigh the whipmaster coiled up his whip. The young man helped Amy put her white smock back on and led her off stage.

The lights went off and it was over. For a long time no one moved. A waiter took away the remains of my food. I sat stunned, my body trembling with strange emotions. I understood very little of what I had seen, of what I had felt, or still felt.

Suddenly there was a soft touch on my arm. I looked up in surprise. My waiter was there, holding a slip of paper. I took it from him without acknowledgement and opened it blindly. It took a moment for the word to sink in. "Backstage" was all the message said. It was not signed. No signature was necessary.

I leapt up, throwing money on the table for the meal. I didn't bother to count it. In moments I was making my way along a dark, smoky corridor behind the theatre. I bumped into a young woman at one point, apologizing and asking her where Amy was. She didn't understand until I called Amy "Josie" and then she nodded and gave me directions. After the woman passed I realized she was the woman in the first skit, the one in the shouting match. She looked very different in clothing.

"Josie's" dressing room was at the end of the corridor. I knocked once, and heard Amy say "enter." Inside it was dark except for one dim lamp in a corner. Amy was lying on her belly on a large sofa. She was naked. She didn't look at me.

"Put some cream on me, 'hon," she whispered softly, and wiggled her ass at me. Her voice was different than I remembered. It was harder, more abrupt, as though she were the older of us two.

I saw a plastic bottle of lotion on the small table at the foot of the sofa and I took it. Gently I closed the door to the room. My mind was spinning. In a daze I knelt beside Amy and squirted lotion across her ass. She gritted her teeth and hissed at the touch. I wasn't surprised. Even in the dim light I could see she had been badly bruised.

"Rub it in," she said.

It had been twenty years since I'd had dreams of caressing Amy's naked ass, but as I put my fingers into the cool cream and smooshed it across her skin it felt like I'd dreamt it last night. Amy was older, her body aged in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, but she was still remarkably beautiful. She moaned and wiggled as I massaged the cream into her blistered buttocks and thighs. I poured on more lotion, including her thighs in this batch. A few drops of cream splattered between her legs. I blushed and wondered what she'd say if I tried to retrieve them.

Finally Amy was well-creamed, her flesh glistening with soothing lotion. Amy sighed deeply and her head turned to look at me. I saw with astonishment that she was indeed much older than I had thought. The strange thing was it didn't make her any less beautiful--in fact, I think it made her more attractive.

She smiled at me. "Thanks. It's been a long time, hasn't it."

I nodded.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

My jaw dropped. I didn't know what to say. Fortunately, she answered for me.

"Of course you do. Come on, get out of that suit."

Her fingers began unbuckling my belt and unzipping my pants. I didn't move. Her hand grasped something hard in my shorts and I gasped, startled.

"Oh, indeed, you want me," she giggled, and continued to strip me. She flung my jacket in one direction, my shirt in another. I managed to kick off my shoes while she took down my pants and then tugged at my underwear. That was too much. I couldn't just stand there while she fussed with it. I jerked them down and kicked them off myself. Since only my socks were left, I took them off, too.

The next couple hours were heaven, or as close as I've ever gotten. We made love several times, each time sweeter than the previous. It was like we were made for each other. We hadn't seen one another in over a decade, and yet we made love with more intimacy than many married couples. Our bodies became one, our emotions raging at the same level. Everything I did seemed to excite Amy, and vice versa. We moaned and kicked our way through numerous orgasms, finally collapsing from exhaustion.

"That was incredible," said Amy.

"I've missed you," I said.

"Yeah. I'm sorry we didn't stay more in touch."

"I'd like to touch you more," I whispered, sliding my hand down the smooth flesh of her back.

She pretended to ignore me. "You liked our play?"

"The dinner theatre? I can't believe you did that."

Amy laughed, her laughter joyful and natural. "I've been doing it every week for over a year."

"Every week!"

"It's not always the same. We vary the scenarios. It isn't always as severe as tonight. Next week, for instance, will be much milder."

"I would hope so."

Amy ran her fingers through my hair. "It's not so bad."

"It looks like it is."

"It's mostly posturing and teasing. I supose you noticed how I faced the audience during most of the caning. The few really painful things--like the bullwhip--aren't done very hard at all."

"How--" I started to ask and then stopped.

"How'd I get into this?" Amy laughed again. "It's not that complicated. I guess I've always had a fascination with strong men. Ever since I was small I imagined powerful men controlling me, tearing my clothes off at the Seven-Eleven and making love to me right there in the junk food aisle. Of course I never did anything with these fantasies. I thought I was crazy.

"Later, in L.A., I meant this amateur film-maker. I did a film with him. Very low budget with lots of nudity and it included this scene with my character getting into S&M. S&M was foreign to me. I researched it by visiting a club. Suddenly I realized my true calling. For the first time I felt like people understood me. I felt like I finally understood myself.

"I got more and more into the scene. I did some film work and eventually came to Paris to try my hand at theatre. I love the intimacy of the theatre. I thrive on the energy of the audience. Like tonight, couldn't you feel the audience's terror for me? They were far more frightened than I was. I soak up that energy. It's incredibly cathartic.

"At first I was afraid to truly reveal myself, but once I made the decision I never regretted it. This is who I am. Up there, it is real. It's partly a play, of course, but it's the reality of it that makes it so addicting. We like to call it 'more real than real' in the theatre. That's what we're about: creating something that's even better than reality."

I nodded, beginning to understand. "And you are happy, truly happy?"

Amy's eyes were dark pools of mystery. I couldn't fathom her expression. "I think so. At least as happy as it is possible for me to be."

"You're thinking of Ro," I whispered. "After all these years. Can't you ever forgive yourself?"

"Can you forgive me?"

"Of course, Amy! I forgave you years ago. You know that."

Amy pushed herself up off me and away, wincing as her ass settled on the sofa.

"You don't know everything," she said in a dull cold voice. "I lied to you. I never told you everything that happened that night."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," she roared, her eyes flashing fury at me, "that I didn't tell the fucking truth! It wasn't Ro that insisted we go driving drunk, it was me! Ro kept wanting to call a cab. She must have mentioned it five or six times. It became a joke. We were all making fun of her for being such a square! And then she fucking died! They all fucking died. And it's all my fault!"

I held out my arms, just a natural reaction, and Amy melted into them, her body shuddering and spasming with pain as she sobbed. "It was all my fault," she kept saying over and over, whimpering and crying, until I was sick of it. There was something unsightly and disgusting about her behaving like that, something selfish and dirty.

For two seconds I contemplated flinging the body of the girl away from me, like filthy rag. I stood to my feet, rage pulsing through me, but instead of pushing her away I slapped her face, hard.

Amy recoiled, her head bobbing, a red palmprint on her left cheek. She stared at me, stunned, her tears forgotten. "You fucking bitch!" I roared. I slapped her again, and then again. She didn't blink but stared at me as though I was a space alien.

"Look at yourself! Crawling through sewers and gutters and living the life of two-bit whore! How dare you insult the memory of my sister by ruining your life like this? Don't you have any pride? Don't you have any soul?"

My left hand was gripping Amy's right shoulder and I brought my right hand to her left shoulder and shook her violently for a long time, perhaps twenty seconds. It was like her body shattered and fell apart. She collapsed onto the sofa and began to sob, real chest-heaving sobs that tore my heart. She wept as though every emotion in her body was being wrenched out of her in one terrible gasp.

"Amy," I whispered, falling to my knees in front of her. "Amy, you know I love you. I love you like a sister, like a lover, like a friend. But you've got to let the past go. Live your life. Live now. Forget Ro. She's dead. It's done. It wasn't your fault. She didn't have to ride with you. I know how much you loved her and how much you hurt when she died. I know that. But show her how much you love her by living your life!"

Amy lay curled into a ball on the sofa, her sobbing quieter. Her eyes were bloodshot and fearful as she looked at me.

"You don't hate me?" she asked. She spoke listlessly, with the barest hint of hope in her voice, as though she didn't want to believe that hope existed.

"I love you, Amy. I've never stopped loving you."

"Please hold me. Please hold me and never let go."

I climbed onto the sofa and held her for a long time, feeling her trembling body slowly calming down. She slept, finally, and I watched her. I didn't sleep myself but watched her, thinking.

She slept for nearly an hour, and then woke with a start. She saw me and a smile replaced the alarm on her face. She pressed her cheek against my chest. "I feel safe," she said simply. "I never thought I'd ever feel safe again. I think for a while there, I liked not feeling safe. But now..."

"I know," I whispered. "I know."

We didn't speak for a long time. Then Amy stirred. "I should be getting home," she said. But she didn't sound like she meant it.

"Your home is with me," I said sternly. "I did a lot of thinking while you took your little nap and there is no way I'm going to lose you again. We are going to be together forever. I don't care how. I can give up my job or you can give up yours, but we're going to be together."

Amy's smile was so peaceful to made her whole body bright.

"Whatever you say," she whispered. "Whatever you say."

And that, dear friend, was the beginning of my life.

The End

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